


Killing Hermione Granger

by NotSoSirius92



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Love, MCD, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22275406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSoSirius92/pseuds/NotSoSirius92
Summary: He intended to kill her. Falling in love was never apart of the plan.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 23
Kudos: 65
Collections: Where Gods Dwell: A Dramione Fest





	Killing Hermione Granger

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my lovely alpha and beta, who for now shall remain anonymous. In response to The Mourning Madames "Where the Gods Dwell" Fest, this piece is inspired by the legend of Eros and Psyche

**Part One: The Soul Bond**

  
  


PRESENT DAY

“They’ve really outdone themselves this year,” Theo observed casually, admiring the crystal chandeliers, the smartly dressed wait staff, and the ice sculptures leading into the hall. The flickering fairy lights lined every corner of the ballroom and gave a rather pleasant ambiance. Theo was dressed in a black Muggle suit that caused many in attendance to narrow their eyes, and a simple black mask obscuring the top half of his face. His blue eyes were striking however, and showed through easily. 

Draco and Theo were standing in what was usually the Atrium of the British Ministry of Magic, but had been turned into a ballroom for the night, as it had every year for the last several years. 

Theo stood a head taller than he did, and this only bothered him because Draco would not be seen doing something so  _ common  _ as standing on his  _ tippy-toes  _ to see all of the arriving guests. 

The Ministry Halloween Gala: a reason to pay homage to James and Lily Potter, and a charity event in their name to raise money for those orphaned in the war.  _ Potter _ . Even without war times, the Golden Boy still was able to pester him unknowingly. He and his motley crew had been causing stress to Draco and his mother for years now. However, he would only admit in secret that Narcissa’s disdain was quite different from his own. 

Draco was on a different sort of mission tonight though, as he’d been doing for the last several years. 

She would be there soon, he could feel it deep inside his bones - a delicious ache that beckoned him forward. 

His obsession with her was unhealthy at best and completely toxic at worse. But he couldn’t stop. Never. The first time her skin touched his, the tether that bound him to his reality shifted, and latched on to her. His own infatuation with her began, probably, about the same time as hers did…

* * *

  
  
  


_ A FEW YEARS AGO... _

  
  


_ “Draco,” his mother hissed, her normally poised countenance frazzled and flustered.  _

_ “Yes, mother?” He looked up from the book he was reading, and found his mother flushed, with a severe expression on her face.  _

_ “I am continually being outmaneuvered by that incessant chit!” Narcissa would have screeched, but her Black blood made her rage more silent, just barely simmering under the surface.  _

_ “Are you talking about the Mudblood, Granger?” This had not been the first time the female third of the Golden Trio caused his mother to be in such a state over the last several months.  _

_ “I’d never imagined that pesky bitch would have had a Slytherin bone in her body. I would have thought she’d turn into another Amelia Bones - stuffy and attempting to bring down change in the DMLE. But no! She decided to use her status as a war hero to become a socialite and make changes that way!” _

_ Draco silently agreed that this plan had been a good one. Instead of forcing laws down their throats, Granger was simply being kind and welcoming - a trait that, unfortunately for his mother, was not instilled from birth. She was turning opinions by simply smiling at her enemies.  _

_ Quite Slytherin of her indeed, Draco smirked to himself.  _

_ “How can I be of assistance, Mother? I do hate to see you so upset.”  _

_ Her beautiful gray eyes turned on him, and her expression softened. Without a severe frown of disapproval on her face, she was as beautiful as Aphrodite, and just as manipulative, too. Only while looking at her son did the slightest bit of warmth touch her face.  _

_ “I want you to get rid of Hermione Granger.” _

_ It was a testament to his upbringing that Draco was able to control the shock that threatened to ripple over his features.  _

_ “Kill Hermione Granger?” _

_ “Yes, Draco. If she is gone, then I will have no one else in my way. She has single-handedly picked apart the dealings your father and I have worked tirelessly on for the last twenty years.” _

_ “You want to continue working towards anti Muggleborn legislation?” Her political agenda publicly had been decidedly forward thinking, which was why a lot of old families from the Sacred Twenty Eight had blacklisted the Malfoy name.  _

_ “I personally have never cared about Muggleborns - I have never believed they posed a threat to society. Purebloods are better than them already, so why bother to think of them at all? They are, unfortunately, a necessity in our dwindling society. No, Granger has made herself into an irksome fly that has cost me money and social standing. I want you, Draco, to swat her.”  _

_ Her face brokered no emotion, but her eyes hardened into flint.  _

_ She was serious.  _

_ “Kill Hermione Granger?” he mused aloud. “Well, it’s not like I hadn’t thought about it before. She always was an uptight bitch in school. You do understand, Mother, that this will not be an easy… or quick… feat. Many Death Eaters have perished looking down the end of her wand.” _

_ “It would, indeed, take more finesse than the brutish tactics of your former cohorts.” _

_ “All right, Mother. Anything for you, of course.” _

_ *** _

_ The first annual Halloween Gala, in honor of Saint Potter’s parents, arrived a short few weeks later.  _

_ A masquerade of all things, to allow the sheep of the wizarding world to give in to the frivolous nature of splendor - all in the name of tragedy, of course.  _

_ The old wizarding families never missed a chance to flash their money around.  _

_ They arrived in their finest robes with their matching masks. They subtly smiled at their friends whilst wrinkling their noses at those that arrived in poor taste.  _

_ Draco arrived with his mother on his arm, both wearing black robes with silver linings. Their masks were black with silver swirls to better accentuate their eyes, or so his mother had said .  _

_ Saint Potter and the Weaslette were easily spotted. Their school yard enmity had been easily forgotten amongst the devastation that war had wrought upon wizarding Britain. But Draco hadn’t seen Potter and his crew in several years, and he felt an old, familiar sneer make its way upon his face.  _

_ He and Potter were always meant to be enemies, Draco supposed.  _

_ Weasel King chose that moment to sidle up next to Potter, his arm slinking around the waist of a voluptuous witch. Draco raised his eyebrows slowly.  _

_ Granger sure did clean up nice. A red dress clung to her body like a second skin, showcasing supple breasts and lush hips. Her mask was black lace, and her lips were dark as well, though he did not think she looked tacky. In fact, he thought the darker tones looked nice on her face. The straps of her black heels were climbing upwards on strong calves, making her legs look kilometers longer than they were. Riotous hair fell free down her back and he rolled his eyes. Didn’t she own a brush? All in all though, his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and suddenly, Weasley’s hand on her waist was mildly irritating.  _

_ “Grangers looking fit.” _

_ Theodore Nott smirked at the slight jump his friend made, and Draco glared half-heartedly at his best friend. _

_ “I’m surprised we received an invitation,” Draco mused aloud. “It’s practically bleeding red and gold here.” He gestured to where the war heroes congregated. Longbottom and Longbottom 2.0 arrived, and she was still wearing those ridiculous radish earrings, Draco noted. Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, the Patil Twins, the rest of the Weasleys, Minister Shacklebolt and several others Draco could not care to name were all surrounding the Golden Trio with sincere smiles and boisterous laughter.  _

_ “It would be in poor taste if we hadn’t,” Theo responded casually, sliding a hand into his front pocket and bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. His bright blue Muggle suit glittered slightly at the movement. Tosser. “We’re still prominent families. Not to mention rich, and this is a charity event. They cannot claim to have absolved us for crimes in war times then shun us from society. It would be too hypocritical.”  _

_ Draco nodded sagely. “Indeed.”  _

_ He saw Granger make her way to a secluded alcove, and recognized his chance. He tipped his glass to Theo, who gave him an annoyingly pointed look, and vanished into the crowd after her.  _

_ Draco pushed his way into the dark corridor she disappeared to, and quickly transfigured his face a bit. He added a subtle Notice-Me-Not charm on top just to be sure. Granger was a smart bint.  _

_ It would be simple, he thought. Or simpler than he’d initially thought, anyway. He didn’t think Granger was ever the type to be separated from the pack. He’d assumed he would need some elaborate plan to isolate her from Potter and Weasley.  _

_ Draco was pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t true.  _

_ With a swish of his robes, he followed down the corridor, noticing that it arched to the left before coming to a large, wide, french terrace-style balcony.  _

_ Granger was facing the view of the city, both arms placed on the railing. Hitching herself up so that the top half of her body was leaning over the railing, she spread her arms wide as though she could fly.  _

_ Draco just watched her from the shadows, partially obscured by the heavy drapery and partially from his charm work. If she was going to jump, it would make his plan obsolete.  _

_ Not that he minded, of course, but he couldn’t help wondering why The Golden Girl exuded melancholy, standing on the ledge of a Ministry she’d worked so hard to reform.  _

_ She sighed heavily and stepped back down, and Draco made his move.  _

_ With one hand quickly wrapping around her waist, the other held a dagger to her throat, cutting off whatever scream had been about to erupt from her lips.  _

_ “Don’t move,” he snarled as she struggled against him, pressing the blade firmly against her jugular.  _

_ Granger stilled instantly.  _

_ “Who are you?” She demanded, breathless.  _

_ Draco could feel the curves of her body pressed tightly against his own, and he was surprised at how soft she was. She smelled of wisteria and apple tart, and her hair was wild in his face as he responded.  _

_ “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to,” he responded. “Tonight is the night your meddling ends. Permanently.” _

_ Granger relaxed against him, and Draco was shocked to feel the fight go out of her.  _

_ “Do it.” _

_ He turned her body around to face him, and he could see the charm working in her eyes as she struggled to place him in her memory.  _

_ “I feel like I know you,” she said, “and within my life there are many people who’d wish me to be dead. So do it, if you must.”  _

_ “You don’t care that I’m here to kill you?” He asked, perplexed. The knife against her throat glinted with a few drops of crimson.  _

_ “Not particularly,” Hermione responded. “I’m tired of fighting for a world that will never see me as anything but a second-class citizen. I’m just tired.” _

_ Wisteria filled his senses, and a pang of guilt seeped its way into his soul.  _

_ “Haven’t I done enough to prove that I belong here?” she asked, and Draco was astounded at how calmly she discussed her impending doom. They could have been talking about cauldrons for all the fear she had shown him.  _

_ Draco was irritated.  _

_ “Where is the fight? Hermione Granger never gives up. I never thought this would be so easy.” _

_ She inclined her head, wincing as the knife scraped against her jugular.  _

_ “I just want to feel something again. Maybe death would be kind.”  _

_ She closed her eyes, and a small smile turned her lips upward.  _

_ Draco kissed her.  _

_ It was furious, demanding, and completely unapologetic. His mouth covered hers forcefully, and he pressed his body tightly against hers. He couldn’t help it. She was standing there, so sad and beautiful, and he was supposed to kill her, but for some reason the sight of her defeated tore at him more than he would have ever thought possible.  _

_ Even more surprising was when she immediately responded in kind.  _

_ Her hands wove through his hair and tugged hard at the strands, and a loud groan left his mouth.  _

_ The knife clattered to the floor as his own hands wrapped behind the backs of her thighs, lifting and pulling until her legs wrapped around his waist.  _

_ He could feel her heat through all the barriers of their clothing, and he thought he would lose it right there.  _

_ Granger was grinding and circling her hips in a swiveling, tantalizing motion. Her lips were just as demanding as she’d always been. Merlin help him, she tasted like strawberries. Sweet. Succulent.  _

_ “Please,” she begged, “make me feel something.” _

_ He struggled to undo the buckle of his trousers for a moment, the impulse to keep grinding against her warring with the knowledge that if he stopped for just a second, he could actually  _ feel  _ her, not just rut against her like a sodding teenager.  _

_ His cock was out and slamming into her in record time, both of them groaning in satisfaction.  _

_ He was not gentle with her, pounding in and out of her relentlessly. She gripped his shoulders tightly and bit into the side of his neck with enough force to make him wince.  _

_ Her hands were vice grips at his throat, and Draco was surprised that the witch was so vicious. He would have expected a pillow princess.  _

_ Pleasantly surprised, indeed.  _

_ “Fuck me,” she demanded, face flushed and pupils blown.  _

_ Draco set her down and bent her over the balcony, hiking that Merlin-forsaken dress up to her waist and sliding through her cheeks quickly.  _

_ At this angle, her arse was perfectly sculpted, and Draco wanted to bite it, but was having a hard time extracting himself from her cunt to do so. She was wet, warm and gripping around him like a pulsating vice.  _

_ He thrusted forward deliriously, his eyes rolling, and he could hear her knees slapping against stone. Smirking at the thought that she would be sore tomorrow, Draco slapped her arse.  _

_ “Who owns this pussy?” _

_ She glared at him from over her shoulder, which was hard to take serious considering he was impaling her at a rate the bucked her head forward over and over again.  _

_ “I don’t know you, so fuck you.” _

_ “Aren’t you already, pet?” He smirked at her, wishing more than anything that he could reveal himself to her at that moment. The look on her face, knowing that she’d just let Draco Malfoy fuck her like a slag, would have been priceless.  _

_ “Say you want me to come in your tight, sweet cunt. Come on, Granger, say it.”  _

_ He slapped her arse again before reaching around them to play with her clit.  _

_ Hermione sobbed wantonly.  _

_ “Please,” she answered, “please, come in me.” _

_ Draco groaned.  _

_ “Oh, I will, pet. But first…” his hands played an unrelenting melody across her skin, his fingers rubbing and pinching and pulling her clit in tandem with his thrusts until he created a dizzying harmony that sent her over the edge.  _

_ He wanted to crawl into her skin. _

_ Her walls fluttered and contracted around him, hands gripping the ledge as she stilled. She moaned, guttural and fierce, and he could see the old Granger making an appearance.  _

_ A golden glow settled around them as she came on his cock, making him dizzy with its effects. Granger’s face was turned to the side, and he was grateful to see that her eyes were closed.  _

_ A pulsating wave washed over him, a magical pressure settling deeply in his chest, pulling him forward to grip her body to his as he thrust into her once more. His magic and seed burst forth, emptying into her; he felt utterly spent.  _

_ Delight from the moment lasted only a second before panic set in.  _

_ The golden glow, he’d read about it before. This was bad. Really, really bad.  _

_ He quickly zipped up his pants, and pulled her upright to place a soft kiss on her lips. _

_ “I have to go,” he said. “This was never a part of the plan. But I can’t hurt you, even if I tried.” _

_ She nodded.  _

_ “Who are you?” _

_ He sighed. “Even knowing that would get us both killed.” _

_ A tear rolled down her cheek, and she nodded. “That feeling? I’ve read about it before,” she bit her lip, and Draco fought the urge to bite it himself. “You know what this means, right?” she asked.  _

_ He nodded, and she hugged him tightly. He smelled wisteria, apple tart, and his own cologne lingering on her skin. He felt a primal urge to rub his scent all over her.  _

_ Mine.  _

_ “Meet me here, same time next year,” she pleaded with him. “Please.” _

_ He nodded. “Next year.” _

_ He made his way back into the corridor and was half way down the hall when she called out to him.  _

_ “Yes?” He turned back to her.  _

_ “Will we ever be together? Will you ever tell me who you are?” she called out, desperate.  _

_ His insides clenched at the thought of leaving her.  _

_ “Maybe someday.”  _

* * *

  
  
  
  
  


PRESENT DAY

  
  


Draco sipped his firewhisky, thinking about that first night with her as he pretended to listen to whatever Theo was nattering on about. Over the last few years, many things had changed since that night. 

He remembered reading a couple of years ago that Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley had divorced, which was uncommon in the wizarding world. It could happen if you weren’t magically bonded with someone, though, and Draco knew for a fact that Hermione Granger was unable to have a magical marital bond with any one. 

Except for him, that is. 

Since their first encounter, Draco had researched everything he could about soul bonds and marveled at the fact that he provoked one with  _ Hermione bloody Granger. _ He had steered clear of her in the Ministry whenever his dealings led him there. She would feel the pull, and Granger was never one to be slow on the uptake. 

So he avoided her, which was exceedingly difficult considering they were two powerful forces in wizarding Britain. 

“Are you listening to me, mate?” 

“Huh? What?”

Theo smirked. “She’s not here yet, you besotted wanker.” 

Draco shoved him lightly. “Piss off.”

Theo shrugged, and Draco let his gaze fall on his mother, who’d just walked in. Her robes were emerald green, her hair pulled back into an elegant bun, and she’d donned on a silver mask to hide her aristocratic features. 

“Mother dearest has arrived, I see.” Theo nodded in her direction. 

“Well, we knew she would be here,” Draco responded casually, though his stomach clenched. 

“When was the last time you spoke to her?”

Draco thought back for a moment. “Other than our letters, I haven’t seen her more than in passing since the summer.”

* * *

  
  
  


_ A couple of years ago… _

  
  


_ The minute he stumbled into Malfoy Manor, his mother was sweeping into the foyer, her white dressing gown flowing behind her. Beautiful and ethereal, masking the lethal force within. _

_ “I can’t do it,” he whispered, and she followed him into the study where he immediately pilfered the liquor cabinet. Narcissa shook her head when he raised a glass in offering.  _

_ “What can you not do?” Narcissa asked in as gentle of a tone that she could muster.  _

_ “I can’t kill her, Mother.” He sagged into a leather armchair, the flames of a dying fire highlighting his features. He looked tired, stressed, and worried. Yet, there was something else there, too.  _

_ Something different, like his skin was clinging differently to him somehow.  _

_ Draco watched his mother scrutinize him, trying to pinpoint what he knew her maternal instincts were screaming at her — that he no longer belonged to her.  _

_ The study was large, filled from floor to ceiling with bookshelves, and portraits of the Malfoys before them hung on the walls. Most of them were sleeping. Lucius Malfoy, however, was looking down at him through eyes that had not blazed in years.  _

_ “Only a few things in the world, bring a man to his knees, darling.” _

_ “Oh, not now, Lucius,” Narcissa snapped.  _

_ The portrait of his father narrowed his gaze. “You forget yourself, wife.”  _

_ “You’re dead. I was released from my vows to you when I became a widow. Thank you for that, by the way.” _

_ Lucius rolled his eyes.  _

_ “Yes yes, now you can whore in peace. How delightful.” _

_ “Watch it,” Draco warned. “That’s my mother. I’d hate to see your painting catch fire.” His eyes glanced to the flickering embers that lay in the fireplace below his father's portrait. Lucius smirked at the not-so-subtle threat.  _

_ “There are only two things that are powerful enough to bring a man, a Malfoy at that, to his knees,” Lucius repeated. “So I’m assuming since mostly everyone in our family save yourself and your mother’s estranged sister are dead, the cause is a woman.” _

_ Draco locked eyes with his father. He had very conflicting emotions when it came to Lucius Malfoy. His father had not been a good person. He had murdered, pilfered, raped, lied, and done every possible thing to ruin their family in the name of blood supremacy. Yet, when he looked at his son, Draco could never deny that there was love in his gaze.  _

_ It was hard to accept that monsters were capable of love, too, and that maybe his family wasn’t full of nothing but hateful people.  _

_ “Draco,” Narcissa said slowly, noticing his unease. “What is he talking about?” _

_ Draco sighed, stealing himself, and looked into the steely eyes of his mother. Gray eyes, a shared trait.  _

_ “Hermione Granger is my soulmate.” _

_ For several long minutes, he watched as his parents - living and dead - processed the information given to them. His father seemed to come to it first, and something close to sympathy flitted across his face.  _

_ “You are sure?” he asked.  _

_ “I am,” Draco nodded. “Everything I felt was consistent with what happens when you’ve provoked a soul bond. It’s.. unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, Father. And… Well, now my magic will not allow me to ever cause her harm.”  _

_ Not that he would have if it did, at this point.  _

_ “This is brilliant, Draco,” Lucius said, a rare but true smile forming on his painted face. “You can use this to your advantage. Your mother and I worked years after the war to restore the Malfoy name. But if you marry Granger, well, all that hard work would pay off! We could obtain all of our former glory.  _

_ “Typical Lucius, to use our child’s love interest as a way to gain political favor. You. Are. Dead. Quit trying to enforce your schemes through your son! Hermione Granger is a war hero, why would she ever want Draco? She was tortured in  _ this  _ very house. I doubt she will come running to him with open arms. She is disgusted by this family. Which is why she needs to be taken out!” _

_ Draco couldn’t stop the low snarl that built up in the back of his throat.  _

_ “You will not touch her,” he said, and he could see his mother’s eyes widen infinitesimally before she schooled her features into a typical Slytherin mask.  _

_ “Oh?” She let her gaze travel over him, making him feel rather small, though he stood a head taller than she did. “You would draw your wand on me? Your own mother? How terrible.” Her words were sweet and venomous.  _

_ “No, Mother, of course not,” he sighed. “But you know what this means. I cannot be the pawn to your schemes when it comes to Hermione Granger. I am quite literally bound by magic.” _

_ “I understand how soul bonds work, Draco. I taught  _ you _ about them, if you remember.” _

_ He nodded respectfully.  _

_ “She will never be with you, Draco.”  _

_ His mother caressed his face softly, and Draco leant into it, his heart clenching because he knew she was right.  _

_ He didn’t notice Lucius glaring daggers at his mother's back.  _

* * *

  
  
  
  


PRESENT DAY…

“Our relationship has been… complicated… these last few years,” Draco allowed, facing his friend to fully engage in the conversation. “She wants something from me that I cannot and am not willing to give. She feels as though I am disloyal to the family because of it.” 

He snarled at the thought. He knew his mother was right with what she had said all those years ago, that he wasn’t good enough for Hermione Granger. But for his mother to act like it was some betrayal on his part - some stain on his honor - drove him mad. 

“You’ve always been at the beck and call of your parents. You’ve played obedient lapdog very well,” Theo mused, and Draco bristled at the insult. “It makes sense that she would try to force you into submission now that you’ve slipped off your leash. We don’t do affection and coddling in pureblood families. We do obedience and loyalty, you know this.” 

Yes, Draco knew that very well. 

“Times are changing,” he replied instead. “She needs to accept it, or stay away from me. Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he groaned. 

“Speak of the devil…” Theo laughed. He was spending way too much time amongst the Muggles in his travels. But before Draco could rib his friend for his Muggle-isms, Narcissa Malfoy glided effortlessly to their sides. 

“Mother.” Draco inclined his head, leaning in to kiss her cheek. 

“Draco,” his mother said, a beautiful smile gracing her lips. 

Draco was immediately on guard. 

“Would you care to dance?” his mother asked, and Draco knew that if he refused, it would not be pleasant. 

Narcissa took his arm as he guided her through the dance floor. 

“What is it that you needed to discuss with me in private, Mother?” he asked. “Surely, you did not need to have the entire ballroom watching us to do so.”

“I came to apologize,” she said, and he thought she sounded sincere. “I do not pretend to understand the way you live your life anymore. But you are my son, and I wish to be apart of it.” 

They moved in circles around the dance floor, oblivious to most of the other people in the room. Draco caught sight of Pansy and Marcus Flint, Harry and Ginny Potter, and Luna and Neville Longbottom make their way to the dance floor.

Pansy gave him a slight nod as her husband dipped her back effortlessly. 

“Do you?” he asked, and the small, childish part of him hoped it was true. 

“Yes,” she said simply. “I cannot tell you that I won’t try and sabotage Hermione Granger. But I will stop the attempts on her life. You’re a Malfoy and a Black, son, you know how these games work.”

It was the best he was going to get out of her, Draco supposed. 

“Wait,” he paused, and his eyes narrowed, “you’ve made other attempts on her life?”

His mother said nothing, merely placed her head on his shoulder as they swayed. 

* * *

  
  
  


_ A couple of years ago…  _

  
  
  


_ “You look beautiful.” _

_ She slowly turned and smiled at him. Eyeing his own stylish dark blue robes, she thought he looked like the boy who had won her heart so long ago. The boy who had then broken it, and broke it again, but also helped put it back together.  _

_ “So do you, Ron.” She kissed his cheek, as she’d done so many times before. But since their divorce, it had been strained. Both tried to make the effort to retain their friendship, but it was a slow process. Being married for years and then divorcing was taking some adjustment.  _

_ “It’s good to see you so happy tonight.” He gave her a genuine smile and returned the kiss to her cheek before stepping back and blushing slightly.  _

_ After all these years, it was still the most endearing thing about him.  _

_ “I am,” she said with a genuine smile. “I am really happy, Ron.”  _

_ Hermione meant that deeper than the context of the conversation, and he nodded in understanding.  _

_ “Listen,” he said slowly. “I… kinda have a date, and she’s bound to arrive soon. I dunno, I just wanted to give you forewarning, I guess. It’s not going to be weird is it?” _

_ Hermione shook her head; there were no romantic feelings left in her for Ron Weasley.  _

_ Not since that fateful night, one year ago. _

_ “Of course not, Ron. Your happiness would bring me happiness. You know I love you, right?” she assured him, taking his hand. “That will never change. We just weren’t working anymore.”  _

_ “No, I know that,” he agreed. “I just never said anything because I was terrified of losing you. A right coward, I was.”  _

_ He laughed self-deprecatingly, “I didn’t want to lose my wife  _ and  _ my best friend in one go. I wouldn’t have survived losing you.”  _

_ She squeezed his hand, heart swelling with affection for one of her oldest friends.  _

_ “You fought a mountain troll for me once, remember? A little thing like divorce doesn’t change that.” _

_ He finally laughed, and she smiled gratefully, happy to see the last vestiges of tension between them dissolve as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her into the sitting room where Harry, Ginny, and a petite blonde witch sat chatting easily.  _

_ “Tracey Davis?” Hermione asked, breaking from Ron’s hold and hugging the witch. “It’s been years.” _

_ Tracey Davis was the only Slytherin girl who made an effort to be nice to Hermione in school. They respected one another on an intellectual level since Tracey understood what having a near encyclopedic memory of books did to a person's social life.  _

_ Tracey had also saved Hermione from a wayward curse at the Battle of Hogwarts.  _

_ “Hermione?” Tracey hugged her tightly. “You look beautiful! Oh, we must catch up. Ronald said you were coming with us tonight, but it slipped my mind!” _

_ Hermione glanced sideways at Ron and noted the tips of his ears turned red.  _

_ “Ronald didn’t mention anything to me. He’s a git that way,” Hermione laughed.  _

_ “Oi!”  _

_ The girls linked arms and vanished through the Floo, arriving at the Gala in a fit of giggles that cause a few elderly witches to glare at them.  _

_ “This is okay, right?” Tracey whispered as the rest of their motley crew appeared a ways behind them. “It’s just, Ron and I have been working together, and when he asked me out I was thrilled, but it wasn’t until I’d already accepted that I thought you might not be so forgiving.” _

_ Hermione smiled reassuringly at her. “Tracey, I love Ron. We’ve had many happy years together and some not so happy. But he is my best friend, nothing more. I’m so glad he’s found someone to keep him company.” _

_ Tracey smiled beatifically, and the two made their way to the bar to join their friends.  _

_ Over the course of the next few hours, Hermione was glad that her friends were heavy drinkers. Shots were passed around - one was actually smoking - and there was a cheery atmosphere amongst the war heroes.  _

_ Hermione felt it the moment he arrived.  _

_ It was as though an electric current was rippling across her skin, and though she couldn’t see him - didn’t know who he was - she could feel him. A strong pull was deep within her abdomen, causing her hair to spark with magic, beckoning her forward to go and find him. _

_ Casting a quick tempus charm, she turned to her friends. Ginny was laughing at Harry’s reddening face, mercilessly teasing him. Ron and Tracey were on the dance floor, and her other friends were meandering amongst the crowds, partaking in the night’s festivities.  _

_ “Harry,” she called. “I’m going to step out for some air, yeah?” _

_ “Are you okay?” He made his way towards her, his brow furrowing in concern.  _

_ “Of course,” she reassured him. “I just want to cool off for a bit, those fire-breathing dragons have my body feeling like it's on fire!” _

_ Hermione kissed Harry’s cheek in farewell and slipped into the dark corridor.  _

_ A year ago, she hadn’t been thinking when she’d first ventured down this hallway. She had been miserable and defeated, and only wanted a small reprieve for herself. She hadn’t really been about to jump, she was just mildly curious as to what freedom truly felt like.  _

_ He was already there, waiting.  _

_ Hermione’s pulse quickened as she made her way behind him.  _

_ “Fancy meeting you here,” he spoke without looking at her. She thought she might have recognized his voice. It felt familiar, as though a repressed memory was making its way to the forefront of her mind from a long time ago. But every time she felt close to identifying the melodic voice, it slipped away from her.  _

_ “I hoped you would come.” She wrapped her arms around him, her magic meshing with his deliciously as he returned her embrace. “I thought I might have imagined all of this. A year was too long.” _

_ “It was,” he agreed, “but it is safer for you, this way. I should not even be seeing you now, but I am too weak to resist.” _

_ His mouth found its way to hers, and Hermione was lost in the way his tongue tangled with hers. He smelled like sandalwood, citrus and something musky - dark. But he tasted like cinnamon, and she sighed contentedly, melting into his embrace.  _

_ “I want you,” she moaned.  _

_ “You have me,” the stranger promised,his nimble fingers expertly making quick work of divesting her of clothes. “Always.” _

* * *

  
  
  


PRESENT DAY

Hermione was a bundle of nerves as she looked herself over in the mirror. 

The black dress was form-fitting, with a slightly more rebellious plunging neckline than she was used to. But Ginny had insisted it looked perfect on her, and Hermione had to admit that she wanted to look good for him. 

Her eyes were smokey and hooded, her hair in wild disarray down her back. Ginny had tried to put it in an up-do, but Hermione ignored her. 

He liked to bury his fingers in her hair. 

She made her way to the sitting room, summoning a bottle of wine and a glass from her kitchen. 

Her apartment was quaint, fitting her personality perfectly. Light, airy colors adorned her walls, and there was a cute nook by the window that she curled up on many a night to read. 

Tonight was going to be different, and though she was excited, she was still an emotional wreck. Hermione took a generous sip of the wine. 

“Not even going to pour a glass? Classy, Hermione.” 

Ginny stepped through the Floo with a wicked smile on her face. 

The redhead was in a golden dress that would be considered scandalous in the traditional pure-blood world, but Hermione thought that the witch looked beautiful. 

“I’m nervous,” Hermione admitted, though it was hardly necessary. 

Ginny grabbed the wine bottle out of her hands and poured a generous amount into the glass before handing back the now half-empty bottle. 

“I wouldn’t be,” Ginny exclaimed. “You’re finally going to meet your soulmate!”

“Ugh,” Hermione groaned. “I’ve already met him, Ginny. Multiple times now.”

“I’m still put out that you waited until last year to tell me. Merlin ‘Mione, it’s like you’re in a forbidden romance novel!”

Ginny's excitement was infectious, and despite herself, Hermione smiled. 

“It does seem quite harlequin, doesn’t it?”

“Hell yeah, it does. I wish I were you. I’d have ripped that mask off the second time I saw him. Damn the consequences! Harry would have never pulled off this bullshite.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Harry is about as subtle as a bludger to the face. He wouldn’t have been able to if he tried.” 

Her beautiful stranger, as Hermione liked to think of him, was well-versed in the art of subtlety. She was never able to see him, save for that one night a year. But there were times that she’d felt his energy at the Ministry, as though she’d entered a room he’d just vacated. 

She had also felt him in her very home, almost as though he was on the edge of her dreams. But when she woke up he was gone, though she could swear the dream was so real that sandalwood and citrus permeated the air. 

Tonight was the night. She would finally unmask her soulmate, and whoever he was - she had a sneaking suspicion already - they would make it work, somehow. 

It was too painful, otherwise. Her soul protested at its other half being absent for so long. It felt heavy, as though burdened with loneliness. Hermione could not bear it any longer. 

“You don’t have any idea who it could be?” Ginny’s thoughts were remarkably on par with hers. 

“I have some ideas…” Hermione mused aloud. “But they seem improbable.”

“How would you even guess anyway?”

“He always smells the same,” Hermione confessed. “It’s the most intoxicating scent I’ve ever encountered.”

“So what did you do?” Ginny said with a teasing smirk, “Go about the Ministry and wizarding London, sniffing random bystanders?”

The girls let out full belly laughs at the image. 

“Well, no,” Hermione chortled. “It actually happened quite accidentally…”

* * *

  
  
  
  


_ A year ago…  _

  
  


_ “Gods, I’ve missed you,” he groaned against her pussy as she shivered above him. His face was obscured by her floor-length dress, but her leg was hiked over his shoulder and his tongue was pressing against her furiously, determined to make her come on his face first.  _

_ “I know. Oh God, I’ve missed you too,” she panted, trying her best to stay standing and not buckle at his ministrations.  _

_ She’d been waiting for this for another heart-achingly slow year until she could feel his arms around her again.  _

_ And now he was here, causing a delicious heat to pool over her skin and into her abdomen.  _

_ Hermione was addicted to the way he touched her. Effortlessly, he was able to bring her to the precipice of her sanity and back down again. And again.  _

_ He lined himself up with her entrance and wasted no time sliding into her. He felt powerful as he wrapped his body around hers. She felt her magic almost sigh in contentment as he moved in and out of her.  _

_ Magic hummed across their skin, creating sparks and tingles every time their lips touched - a soul-deep yearning to be close to one another. _

_ It was never enough.  _

_ Hermione almost cried when they came together. In ecstasy, yes, but also because she knew he would leave again, soon.  _

_ “I think I love you.”  _

_ He paused, and Hermione wished more than anything to lay eyes on his face.  _

_ She did, however, notice his shoulders tense, and though she didn’t know him personally—, a myriad of emotions thrummed through their link.  _

_ Fear, anxiety, and hope before finally settling on an overwhelming amount of love.  _

_ “You don’t have to say anything,” she said, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around him.  _

_ “I will wait to tell you until we can finally be together,” he said.  _

_ “Okay.” _

_ *** _

_ Weeks later, Ginny met her for lunch at the Leaky, and Hermione told the witch about the whole sordid affair. _

_ The redhead squealed in delight, demanding every detail, to which Hermione gladly acquiesced. She was glad to tell someone, anyone.  _

_ “And you have no idea who he is?” Ginny asked her.  _

_ Hermione shook her head. “He said it was too dangerous.”  _

_ “Dangerous? How so?” _

_ Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know. But I believe him. I also believe that one day, it won’t be, and we can finally be together.”  _

_ “One day,” Ginny agreed, taking her friends hand in a gesture of comfort. “Maybe you can do a little digging and figure it out on your own.”  _

_ The two friends chatted some more, and then Hermione’s lunch hour was over.  _

_ Walking into the Ministry, she felt that familiar thrum behind her sternum.  _

_ “I’m sure you can make accommodations. I need to be present for this hearing. My client was a victim and requests reparations.”  _

_ Draco Malfoy, a magical lawyer, or so Hermione had heard, was standing with Minister Shacklebolt, speaking with a commanding voice that his younger self had always managed to make sound petulant.  _

_ He’d grown up, that’s for sure.  _

_ Hermione admitted to herself that the last decade had been kind to him. His face was angular, his hair a bit longer and much less slicked back than he’d kept it in his youth, and he was tall and lithe.  _

_ Almost as though he could sense her, Malfoy turned suddenly, and his gaze locked on hers.  _

_ Molten silver eyes bore into her.  _

_ He shook himself slightly before turning back to Kingsley. _

_ “Thank you for your time, Minister. I’ll see you in court.”  _

_ With a swish of his robes, he brushed past her, smelling of citrus and… sandalwood?  _

* * *

  
  
  


PRESENT DAY 

“Malfoy!?” Ginny exclaimed, placing a hand to her chest dramatically. “Of all the arrogant prats of the world, you chose the king of them?” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “It's not as though I  _ chose  _ this, Ginny. Really.” 

Her friends gaze softened, and she bit her lip in consternation as she stared at Hermione. Ginny - for all of her fierceness - was unwaveringly loyal and kind. 

Hermione had confessed her sins to Ginny rather than Ron and Harry because she thought Ginny might be the one to understand. Ginny had pined after Harry for years until he noticed her. She’d had to be content with living on the sidelines, wrapped in her own fantasies until the two of them as a couple came to fruition. 

Hermione supposed she was doing that herself now. Dipping her toes into a wild and unhinged fantasy with a beautiful stranger who made the lines around her sanity blur. 

It was dark and sinful, and she couldn’t stop if she wanted to. He was too much a part of her, now. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just shocked, that’s all.” 

“You’re telling me. I may have a soul bond with him!”

“And you’re sure it’s him?” 

Hermione ran her hands through her hair before taking another pull from the bottle of wine. Her hands were no longer shaking and the warm feeling washing over her seemed to be settling her nerves. 

It would make sense if it was Malfoy. Fate was a funny bitch, that way. She knew he smelled the same as her mystery stranger; it wasn’t as though most people smelled of sandalwood. And… the achy longing in her chest intensified that day she saw him in the ministry. 

So no, she wasn’t sure. But Hermione couldn’t deny that it  _ fit.  _

Ginny eyed her friend appraisingly. “You’re surprisingly cavalier about this.” 

Hermione smiled. “I had a bottle of wine before you came over earlier, and I laced it with a bit of Calming Draught. Cheers, Gin.” 

***

A while later, Hermione found herself stepping into the Ministry of Magic, anticipation swelling in her gut. 

It wouldn’t be long now. 

She felt a familiar thrumming across her skin and smiled. He was here. 

The party was in full swing, as Hermione had arrived a lot later than anticipated. She and Ginny had finished their bottle of wine, and the two women had giggled through the Floo. Ginny had immediately run off to find Harry, and Hermione smiled fondly as she laid her gaze on the pair. 

Ron and Tracey appeared next to them, and Hermione made her way over to her friends. 

“Wotcher, ‘Mione” Ron said as he kissed her cheek, Tracey following suit after. 

“Hello Ron. Tracey,” She nodded to them. “You two look fantastic.” 

“You as well, Hermione,” Tracey gushed. “I almost didn’t come tonight, but Ron said I deserved a night of fun.” 

She ran her hands across her swollen abdomen and Hermione smiled. 

“Smart man, that Ron Weasley. You’re beautiful.” 

Tracey blushed as Ron’s hands snaked around her stomach. “I told her Weasleys were blessed with fertility. As soon as I married her, I told her she’d need a contraceptive potion or something. Look at her; she’s the most beautiful girl in the world. I couldn’t keep my hands off of her.” 

Tracey smacked his hand, and Ron’s cheeky grin made Hermione smile. Her friend’s happiness was contagious. 

“I’m excited to meet my future godson.” 

“Who says you’re going to be godmother? I could ask Luna,” Ron laughed. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Please.” 

Glancing around, she almost didn’t notice Malfoy slip out in the direction of a secret alcove down a dark corridor Hermione knew well. 

_ It doesn’t mean it’s him.  _ The evidence, however, was stacking up. Hermione’s nerves were beginning to fray. 

“Excuse me.” Hermione made leave of her friends who didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss. Ginny caught her eye and gave a knowing smirk, before resuming her conversation with Minerva McGonagall about the current Quidditch season. 

As she made her way out of the crowd and into the hallway, Hermione forced herself to take deep, calming breaths. 

If it was Malfoy, did that change anything? 

Well, yes. They had a history, and a nasty one at that. In nearly two decades, Hermione could not remember a single time they’d exchanged a kind word with one another. He was a blood supremacist. Or, at least he’d been so during their childhood. 

But Hermione had to admit that she could not pretend to know Draco Malfoy anymore. It had been years since they had spoken. He could very well still be the same person, or he could be different. 

Did it matter? 

Hermione knew that answer.  _ No.  _ If he was her soulmate, then nothing they’d done to each other in the past mattered. She could forgive him, Hermione decided. She already had. 

Hermione silently made her way to the familiar balcony. 

He was there, back to her, and she could see the tension in his shoulders. 

“I’ve been waiting for you.” 

“You couldn’t have been waiting more than a few minutes,” Hermione admonished, rolling her eyes at his dramatics, and though she could not see his face, she could almost hear him smiling. 

“And how would you know that?” 

She steeled herself. “I saw you leave.” 

The effect was immediate. The lightness of the moment rapidly faded, leaving an oppressive weight in its wake. It was asilence filled with anxiety, fear, resentment and maybe… hope - A niggling feeling that neither would be rejected. 

“Say it,” he said as he finally turned. “You don’t know until you say it.” 

There was an edge of desperation laced in the roughness of his voice. He made his way towards her, almost predatory, and Hermione could feel him losing what little control he had over the situation. 

“Say it.” 

This time he was begging. 

Hermione closed her eyes. 

“Hello, Draco.” 

Silence. For one elongated moment, everything was still, except for the steady hammering of her heart behind her chest. The thrumming of their bond was almost painful as it beged her to touch him, but she stood still, suspended in time while she waited for him. 

_ Always for him.  _

“I figured it out a while ago,” she said conversationally, figuring that if she kept talking, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. 

“That day I ran into you at the Ministry, I smelled citrus and sandalwood. I thought it was impossible, but the more I thought about it, the more I became convinced it was you. Fate is funny, that way.” She shrugged helplessly.

“You know.”

Hermione nodded, “I do.” 

He came up to her, gripping her shoulders tightly, “ _ You know _ .” 

She nodded again, and her fingers traced the red swirls around his mask. She removed her own, and Hermione felt his desire flitter through their bond. 

She removed his,, her fingers tracing over the planes of the transfigured face, questioning, her wand poised in one hand. 

With a resolved sigh, Draco nodded. 

She breathed, “ _ Finite _ .” 

And there he was in front of her. Not a dream. He was real and alive and so close she could feel his breath fan across her face. 

Their bond pulsated between them, and with Draco Malfoy standing inches away from her, there was no denying that she was bound to him. 

“It’s you,” she whispered, and pulled his mouth to hers in a searing kiss. 

Their lovemaking was frantic, needy and desperate.

He knew her body as well as she did, and he wasted no time in worshipping her, bringing her over the edge again and again. 

His fingers whispered across her skin reverently, as though he were afraid she’d disappear. 

“I’m not going to leave you,” Hermione assured him a while later as they were dressing. “Though, now that I know who you are, can we please stop meeting at this alcove? Not that it’s not romantic, but beds are nice, too.” 

Draco chuckled and was about to respond when screams reached their ears. 

“That doesn’t sound good.” He glanced at Hermione, and she was instantly on guard. 

Drawing their wands, Hermione and Draco ran down the corridor and into the Atrium. 

* * *

  
  
  


_ Several months ago…  _

_ “I need your help. Or guidance. Something.”  _

_ Lucius’ portrait stared down at him with something akin to concern, and Draco sighed heavily.  _

_ “I don’t want to be without her anymore.”  _

_ Draco leant against a mahogany desk, an empty bottle of firewhisky next to him. His shoulders were weighed down, and he had aged. Sorrowful grey eyes lifted to meet the painted blue ones of his father.  _

_ “And so you won’t.”  _

_ Dracos eyebrows lifted in surprise.  _

_ “You approve?”  _

_ Lucius sighed. “I became a Death Eater at the request of my father and Narcissa's. I had always believed in blood purity, but I never wanted that life for myself, and even less so for you. But your mother and I failed you countless times. We should have kept you away from the Dark Lord’s ranks. We should have bred acceptance and kindness into you rather than hatred. It was too late that I realized this though, and thesingle regret I had in my life was failing as your father.”  _

_ Draco was shocked to say the least, but Lucius wasn’t finished.  _

_ “You are the Malfoy that will restore our honor. Make the Malfoy name something to be proud of again. I think your union with Granger will help. I also think that she would be good for you, son.”  _

_ “I love her,” he said simply, and his father smiled at him. A rare smile that he never bestowed upon Draco while living. It was surreal.  _

_ “I know.”  _

* * *

  
  
  


PRESENT DAY 

  
  


A kaleidoscope of colors lit up the room as spells flew in the air. Draco noticed Hermione immediately went to the aid of Potter and Weasley who, of course, had jumped into the middle of the fray. 

He grabbed her wrist, and she turned to him, a frown forming on her face. 

“I have -”

“I know,” he cut her off, his lips brushing against hers. “I love you.” 

She forced a smile on her face. “I love you, too.” 

And then she was gone, spells on the seam of her lips. 

Draco took in the scene before him, blocking wayward spells sent his way. Death Eaters, ones who’d managed to evade capture all these years, were scattered amongst the crowd. They’d forgone their masks - a power play, he supposed. 

“Hello, nephew. Long time, no see.” 

Rodolphus Lestrange offered a sinister smile as he lazily circled around Draco. His eyes had a mad glint in them, and though he’d always been unhinged, somehow Draco had never been afraid of him before now. 

“Hello, Uncle. I see the years haven’t been kind to you.” 

Not much else was said as the two began to dance. Rodolphus was an excellent dueler, just as good as his late wife and with a lot better control. He’d not been able to penetrate Draco’s shield, but neither could Draco fire off any offensive spells of his own. 

Finally, Draco was able to subdue his uncle with a hasty curse, knocking the man into a wall with a sickening crunch. 

Draco immediately sought out Hermione, and what he saw made his blood go cold. 

She was on her knees, black ropes constricting around her body, and her wand was being twirled in the hands of her captor. 

Dolohov.

Draco's heart stuttered in his chest.

“I’ve waited a long time for this,  _ lyubov moya _ ,” he said with a mad smile on his face. “We were meant to play so long ago.” 

Time slowed down as Draco and Hermione locked eyes on one another. She smiled at him, resigned to her fate. 

_ I love you _ . Her lips formed the words, and Draco pushed his way through the battle, his breath leaving him as he begged his legs to move faster. He was almost there, just one more step. 

Dolohov's grotesque face twisted in a sneer. 

“ _ Avada Kedavra.” _

Draco didn’t think. He just leapt. 

  
  
  


_ Several Months Ago…  _

_ Hermione Granger had been researching everything she could about soul bonds - and throughout history they were rare. As such, not many books existed in the world that had information on them.  _

_ Of all the things she could gather, she knew a few things.  _

_ Number pone: A bonded pair could never harm one another. _

_ Number two: A bond is actualized with physical contact. _

_ Number three: Bonded pairs live longer due to having two magical cores to draw from.  _

_ Number four: Should one half of a bonded pair suffer an untimely death, the other half has been known to commit suicide or lose touch with reality. This is based on few known soul bonds in history.  _

* * *

  
  
  


PRESENT DAY

Once the battle had ended, Hermione sobbed for what seemed like an eternity. 

Her friends were at a loss, watching her hover over Draco Malfoy's body, wailing like she’d lost a lover.

Ginny had quietly relayed the tragic story of the two lovers who were meant to be together, and her friends gathered around her,thinking that fate was a cruel, cruel mistress. 

The only person as devastated as Hermione was Narcissa. 

She openly sobbed next to the Muggle-born witch, all thoughts of enmity vanished at the loss of her son. 

It took hours to convince the pair to rise up, so they could move his body to the Malfoy Mausoleum in preparation for the inevitable funeral. 

The next morning, after hours of sobbing into Harry's shoulder, an owl dropped off an envelope into Hermione's trembling hands. 

_ There is work to be done.  _

_ Come to Malfoy Manor.  _

And so Hermione found herself in Wiltshire, entering wrought iron gates with a sense of foreboding in her weary heart. 

The Manor was beautiful and dark, and it felt as empty as she did as she stepped through its doors. 

A spritely house-elf led Hermione to the drawing room, a place she’d never thought she would enter again. 

Narcissa stood next to him, and Hermione could not even pretend that he was sleeping. He was too still, too pale. 

“What would you do to bring him back?” 

Hermione looked at the face of her enemy, and the overwhelming grief there was enough to break her. 

“Why am I here, Narcissa?” 

Lady Malfoy paused for a moment, considering her words carefully. 

“You shared a bond with my son, is that right?” 

Hermione nodded. 

“You know, in some cultures, necromancy is revered and celebrated. In our customs though, it is considered dark magic. Do you know why?” 

“Because it requires sacrifice.” 

“You shared a bond with my son because your souls are compatible. Nearly identical, I’d say, if my research is correct.”

She brushed Draco's hair back, and Hermione forced a sob back down her throat. 

“He’s not alive because there’s no soul inhabiting this body,” Narcissa stated, and through her grief, Hermione could still see a calculating stare coming through. 

“And so… I could give him… a piece of mine?” 

Narcissa nodded. “Essentially.” 

Hermione steeled herself. “I’ll do it.” 

The two witches sized each other up, measuring just how far into the abyss they would travel to save the reason for their existence. A mother, grief-stricken and guilty. A lover, heartbroken and desperate. 

They were a dangerous combination. 

“You understand that losing a part of your soul… It will change you. Not for the better. This is dark magic, Hermione. It will taint you.” 

She thought of a life without her soulmate. 

It was unbearable. 

“I’m already tainted without him. I’ll do it.” 

Narcissa nodded. "Very well. Let’s begin.” 

  
  
  


FIN. 


End file.
